The Apparition
by James Rylee 18
Summary: A surreal dream may yet be a memory, a kiss may save or destroy, murder could be the key to salvation, or love may be the only true bird of all. It is no question what has been or will be, it is a wonder of what may be decided in the instant. Forgiveness knows no bounds for the greatest of lovers that Time has ever known. Look for The Apparition: Horizon, the next installment
1. Chapter 1

"You are not here," He was totally assured in what he was saying. "I know… I know all that happens in this place."

"Certainly you do." The quiet apparition smiled that kind smile. She moved, like a watery image riddled with awkward shadows and strange unnatural patterns, and settled like a bird nesting in his throne. Arms folded against the circling edge of the seat she leaned her head down and blinked lazily.

"Then why are you here?" He almost laughed, but he was smiling. How he could be smiling now was beyond him. But then not so beyond his comprehension, she had that way about her that called for smiling. As unclear as her image was, blurred and moving, her color was exactly right, if not made brilliant by the passing of life. Her eyes were still pale green jewels, darker then they had been before, a sweeter green. And her hair was pulled away from her face in a long ponytail; a stray stand was curling into the curve of her jaw. It was hazy, but rich with its mysterious color, brown like an old tree with dark whispers of black.

"I suppose there was a glitch in the Matrix," She laughed to herself.

"Yes," He nodded; the mortal reference did not strike him as humorously. He was occupied instead in staring at her, trying to break down the chemical make-up of her spectral appearance. He could see through her image, could count the ribbons of light and other small beads of color that she was made of. Dissecting her was simple, but sending a gentle current of magic distorted the image.

"Ouch." She grumbled as her image regrouped and solidified. "What was that?"

Frowning he rubbed his chin. "A spell to turn you human again, it clearly didn't work."

"And it hurt." She held her head in pain and rubbed her eyes. The movement made her image quiver.

"How did you get here?" He took a single step toward her. A ripple went through her and she looked suddenly tense.

"I don't know," She said. "The last thing I remember is going to sleep."

"Where?"

"In bed." She looked at him curiously. "Did I frighten you?" This thought sent a glimmer through her, and she turned rosy with delight. A child scare the Goblin King? He tried not to laugh, the idea was preposterous.

"Girl, you could never frighten me. Your appearance is remarkable though. I wonder as to how you achieved it." He took a second step closer and was pleased with her tremulous reaction.

"I told you," She said, straightening herself she took her ponytail in her hand and wrung her hair out. A glittering display of color droplets dripped down from her hair. She giggled and met his questioning gaze with perplexed eyes of her own. "I didn't know I could do that."

He closed the distance between them and reached for her hair, but found his grasp met only air and damaged the image when he took his hand away. Her ponytail dissolved into nothing and was struggling to refabricate itself again.

"Tell me," He said as she fretted over the air of where her hair had been. "Can you feel anything?"

"Like this chair? Or my hands?" She nodded. "I can feel it."

"But what about the bed you fell asleep in, or the air you're breathing, you are not breathing Underground air." He dared not reach for the specter again, afraid to permanently destroy the dream.

She hesitated and closed her eyes, searching for the sensations he was describing. After a few quiet moments she opened her eyes.

"I can't feel anything anymore," She was shaking now. Her ghostliness jumped and fidgeted violently in the throne and she looked from side to side, unable to meet his gaze.

"I must leave you for a moment." He said. Now he was worried. At first glance, she could have been the astral projection of her soul, a dreaming self that had made the difficult journey here by chance. Memories drew dreamers back to the Labyrinth, back to an old memory. He'd seen other runners, other visitors; even stolen children pass through the halls of his castle or the grounds of the labyrinth in a hazy half real form. Their visits were brief, their meetings short and many of them did not speak. Their images did not hiccup and quiver or vanish at the slightest touch into the air. She was not an astral projection, but what she was he could not tell. His only choice was to turn Aboveground and search for her, find her human self. Discovering the connection of her image here and her body above was the only key to the puzzle.

"Don't go." She whispered, but fiercely and her image was bright with nervous color.

He had been ready to shift from this world to the next, raw magic was tapping his sense impatiently, curious of its unused state. He dissolved it for her and looked. Looked straight into her pixel eyes and breathed deeply. This was not Sarah, not her completely. The air was full of the stink of chickens, of goblin sweat and the tang of his cologne. But the flowering, delicate scent of Sarah was nowhere to be smelt. Had she truly been here, breathing and living, her smell would have overwhelmed him by now. It would have followed her and tickled his nose mischievously. He would have felt it, softly rolling in his skull, touching his memories and rekindling the warm desire she always inspired in him.

Something in her face changed, shocking him from his trance of memories. She moved awkwardly up, her body and limbs now awkward and quivering.

"You doubt me." She said, and the words stung like fire. He immediately regretted his musings over her existence, of course it was Sarah. She may not have been all there but it was still her, right down to the last gentle wrinkling of her dimples. He pushed aside his worries for the moment and focused his attentions solely on her. She was here.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" He tried to sound as genuine as he could, but when it came to the green-eyed girl he tended to show off. At this particular moment he was not as fashionably dressed in the fantastical pieces of dreams that his runners supplied him with. His hair too was shorter and his eyebrows less fae-like. These traits had developed over the years, after prolonged exposure to the human kind he was prompted to employ himself with. He could barely remember a time when feathers once sprouted from his arms; his eyes had been larger, hair much longer and the bones of his body sharp as blades. He did not think his ancient form would please Sarah quite as much as the more human body he was slowly adjusting to. At that moment though, taunted by her half-formed quality, he almost wanted to scoop a handful of magic into his hand and change himself to his original self.

"I did not mean to visit, but I suppose at desperate times you always return to the place you most desire." She smiled warmly, her image less agitated.

"Well, I shall consider your arrival a great honor, but tell me Lady Sarah, why is it that you decided to visit the Labyrinth once more?" He would address "desperate times" in a moment.

"Indeed a wonderful honor. I promise this time I shall not destroy your world." She teased.

"I did not think that message had made it across when you were fourteen." He grumbled. He took a seat on a goblin's stray stool, and cursed when the dam thing wiggled on uneven legs.

"You were quite clear with me on that matter. Your ambiguity failed you in the Escher Room."

"The what?"

"The Escher Room?" She looked surprised. "The room with all of the stairs and the skewed perspective." She looked horridly surprised.

Jareth pondered heavily over the journey she had made, trying to remember what fabrications of the trek were her own, or his own Labyrinth itself.

"My dear," He said. "Forgive me for not remembering, but the Escher Room was your own creation. When a runner comes to the Labyrinth they make up much of their trial on their own. I took the inspiration from your mind and brought it to life for you to try."

"Can you do that with anything anyone thinks?" She asked.

"Mostly," He ventured to answer more but gave up. Too much of an explanation without an aid of magic would be confusing. And magic couldn't touch Sarah right now. Even the thought of it sent a little spurt of magic toward her and she squealed in pain and gave him a dirty look.

"I apologize."

"Perhaps I should leave…" She made to rise, but something in her face told him she had no clue how to leave in the first place.

He humbled her teasing anyway. "Dearest, do not leave now," He stood and came to the side of the throne, the closest he had been to her yet. He could smell something now, a raw smell, like a cold slap of meat in butchery. This was unnerving, and he focused evermore on her image, suddenly seeing microscopic images in her form, hints of a dark terrible color that was splattered on her face and body but appeared to his sight only in quick dull flashes. Her ponytail had regenerated, but was jumpy and unclear in its color. Her eyes were truly the only real color that was rich, everything else had begun to fade.

He needed a question to distract her, he could not use his strong magic but he could sense a curtain hanging over her image was changing what he saw and he needed to remove it.

"Sarah, how old are you now?" He said. He stripped a layer of her magical curtain from her body, but nothing changed.

"Twenty-four," She whispered through gritted teeth. The magic had hurt her, but was obscure enough that she didn't realize it had been the magic that hurt her.

"What is your favorite color?"

Another, stronger surge of magic ripped a layer of disguise from her and he could see the blood stains on her face and legs. He struggled not to focus on them.

Understanding suddenly what he was doing she screamed and leapt in a rush of color out of the throne.

"Stop!"

"What is your brother's name?" He was half-yelling, "Say his name!" He hurled a heavy wave of magic. She screamed but lay still sprawled on the ground, image shaking horribly, all colors dulled by the blood on her face, the bright green leaves in her hair. The clothes she had been wearing were vanishing off and on.

Above all the chaos, and the pain she managed to whisper. "Toby."

"What is my name?" He whispered, he crawled toward her and laid his ungloved hand down on her chest. He pressed down and she suddenly quieted when a surge of light came from under his palm. He was not even sure of the spell he was using, but he needed her disguise gone. It had finally vanished from her ghostly form, she was now laying before him half naked, covered in blood, newly murdered.

"Jareth," She was hushed as cold wind. "Jareth…"


	2. Chapter 2

"What happened?" He could feel her now, the magical mask over her spectral form was lifted, and he could feel the softest brushings of her soul under his hand. She was no longer the strange clipped image of herself; her skin was pale and moved like small clouds. Her hair was bedraggled with leaves, a twig, and dirt coated the lank locks listlessly. Her eyes, fine as the day he first saw them shone with ghostly tears each glittering and reflecting his own agonized expression back to him. He could see now the horror she was hiding from him, the blood colored her paleness so violently and with no restraint. He scoped out her body, and had she the blood in her veins to blush she would have for her sake. Her clothes were tattered, the remains of a white sweatshirt barely covered her open bra, and a front clasp that looked like had scratched her upon its release. She had been wearing what looked like a pair of jean shorts. The shorts were manhandled and were tightly wrapped around her left ankle. She still wore her underwear but they were roughly bundled at her waist, rolled up haphazardly in an attempt to re-dress that had done little good. Jareth felt a meal from a few hours ago churning in his throat and begging to be released when he saw the wash of blood on that pair of underwear.

He had to look away quickly; he could not stand the sight of the intrusion.

"You are just a child..." He mumbled. He reached to touch her leg, where tracks of blood marked where nails had cut her in a heat.

When she spoke it was through a gentle voice, far softer than ever she had spoken before to him, "I was walking home from work."

It was enough. He touched her mouth with his fingers to silence her. There was a splitting pain going up and down his spine, a familiar release of rage-magic. How had she died though...?

"I fell asleep in a bed," She whispered and her mouth moved under his fingers. "In some hospital, not long after they found me. I could hear them explaining it when I shut my eyes... Too many injuries to sustain life, she was too beaten."

Other parts of her were mangled but Jareth could hardly make himself look at the different marks. In his mind were two conflicting images, he was receiving a set of memories, two at the same time. Sarah had, unknowingly allowed him a passage into her mind that he could now journey through freely. She could see them too.

The first image was she, living, breathing, clean as a whistle, older, more voluptuous. He could sense thoughts at that living moment; she was troubled over a recent weight gain, a wider girth than normal. How foolish she was in this memory peering at her in the reflection of a window she was passing, over criticizing herself. She was in school, college, and she lived with her best friend. This friend floating by in her mind, a short girl with wide eyes and pretty blonde hair. This was the friend she was on the phone with walking the three blocks home to their apartment when a hand grasped her. She dropped the blocky excuse of a phone. Her blonde haired friend could hear her crying as she was dragged away, into a tunnel under a bridge. The ground under her was hard. She could still see the cellphone, but her friend was no longer there. The police were too late and most of her blood had spilled away around her on the concrete. The men were gone; all that was left was Sarah.

Jareth pulled himself sharply out of the memory and the pain in his spine burst. True forms, he found, appeared under moments of pure emotion. Rage was a deep emotion he had long tried to suppress. From Sarah's rejection of him, to the dreams that plagued them both, now to the moment where her life was a sheer echo of what it once was, a soft cloud hovering on the floor.

Feathers sprouted from his back, tearing his clothes. His trimmed hair re-grew, long and blonde, past his knees. He pulled himself up and away from the sobbing specter of Sarah, the mortal he loved, the mortal he lost. He cried out in pain, his bones crunched and he felt suddenly cold as the reshaped themselves, sharpening and defining. He had not looked as Fae as this in many thousands of years. His face was sharp, angled, and his bones stretched his skin dangerously thin. His eyes darkened, the nose that was once elegant was sharper, and tore through his skin, gleaming like a pearl-colored beak. The pointed teeth that had once made Sarah shiver with a virginal delight, were now a sharp as blades, drew blood from his lips and made Sarah gasp. His transformation left him, a hulking, feathered beast, bones as harsh as metal, fangs as bloody as her own spirit. She struggled to rise. Death was tickling her toes angrily, aware now how she had tricked it with her disguise.

"Jareth..." She whispered.

The beast made a sound like a grunt, but it doubled as a growl. It was still at first, shaking slightly with the fresh pain of the change that had occurred. The sound of it all had drawn a small crowd of goblins from the nooks and crannies of the castle. They had grown ugly with their king, sprouted claws and sharper teeth, no longer tethered to the beautiful dreams of runners. They had converted back to their birth-forms. Punished creatures that had once been beautiful. Men and women of the Fae court who had given their souls up the winged-king. Jareth had long since been fighting to heal them; the power of dreams had sustained that nurturing relief of the goblins. He had been so close to healing. Sarah's green eyes had prompted the greatest of all his changes.

If this had not happened... if this had not ended it prematurely. Sarah would have been his. The court would have been healed.

The beast cried out in agony. Memories of his own putrid pre-existence to the man he had been renewed his anger.

The ghost girl cried too, climbing clumsily to her knees, reaching for the clawed hand of the king.

He breathed painfully, remembering the same green eyes, alive, but millennia before. This was his punishment. For the crime he had committed so long ago.

A memory he had long since pushed down into the depths of his existence was resurfacing. The ghost girl was opening her arms to him, searching in the face of the beast for the king she had come here for. She was so familiar to him. The smell of his blood mingled with hers, and he wanted to pull the bloody feathers out of his body and feel the same pain her ghost was feeling. He could not imagine that she remembered, the toxic sin he was now remembering. He had seen this face before, knew this woman before she was the girl who ran his Labyrinth. It was long ago, in a dream-like place, before the Gods of Time had invented the clock.

He was the king of all and everything. He ruled the humans, the dirt under the feet of the Fae, and he ruled the Fae. Goblins had never yet been created. There were only the two species, the animals and the earth. He was the devil. The women were afraid of his sweeping flight when they saw him, high in the sky, watching over his domain. The gods too were afraid of him, the product of the purest good and the purest evil had produced him, born fully grown.

He could remember his ruling. His palace was made from the bones of the dead he destroyed, painted by the blood of his prey. He feasted on anything he could find; his favorite had been the blood of human maidens.

His memory of the rich flavor made his mouth water achingly. Their blood was the darkest red, slightly purple and thick with their own enticing dreams. Fae women were lackluster, chilly and dreamless; he rarely made a feast of them and rarely even looked at them. As the bird-king of all the land he could have anything he wanted and he took advantage of it.

It was a starless night when he found her, a maiden of the human village far north of his palace. He had hardly been to this part of the land; the maidens he made meals of were usually the brown skinned beauties of the south. They tasted of sunlight and their blood was warm. Winter winds from the north were calling him from his chamber window. Sprawled in his bed, splattered with the blood of his last kill, her screams still warm to his ears he had smelt the gentle flowery smell. It consumed him, the flavor un-tasted called to him and his blood drummed in his ears with a blood-lust as strong as he had ever felt. He cringed when he could smell the cold; this maiden was far away in the frost. Dare he venture to these winter lands? The scent of her taunted him deliciously. Before he had made up his mind he was in flight, storming through the sky, shredding the clouds and lighting the night with the crystal moon around his neck.

The cold could hardly touch him; he was inflamed by his hunger.

Her name he caught on his quick ears when he reached the quiet village. The homes were made of ice; the close-knit folk were all assembled in a lush huddle around a blue flame. He could not see her, shrouded in skins of animals to keep warm, but her smell clouded his thoughts. He landed on the roof of one of the ice houses, his clawed feet changing into booted feet of a humanoid.

The village erupted into horror and chaos at the sight of him, but they stilled and silenced when he commanded them.

"I seek one whose scent has drawn me here, a maiden." He declared. His feathers rustled noisily with anticipation. "Show me your maidens so I may discover her."

"Oh great one, we have only one maiden we keep, our girls are all taken by husbands but one. Spare her please; she is our treasured one..." The chieftain looked close to tears. Behind him the group had assembled, arms clutching an indistinguishable figure.

"I care not for the trivial 'treasuring' of this girl. I desire her for myself and she shall be mine." He spread his wings, sixteen feet wide and the crowd cried out. "Give the maiden to me; it is an honor to be chosen by the king."

"Let me leave with him." A strong voice, like a bell silenced the crowd and made the king start. "I shall not see you perish for the likes of me."

The figure pushed her way forward and lifted the fur-hood from off her head, revealing the beautiful pale-skinned beaut beneath. The king stared down upon her, shaken by her equal stare back at him. Her bold eyes were green, and chilly and angered. Her hair, long enough to brush at her knees indicated her rank in this village.

"You are a Story-teller." The king said with a hint of malice. Her smell had deepened in his nostrils and was making him dizzy. She straightened, aware of his rudeness.

"I am." She said. "My name is Cerah." The "r" in her name rolled slightly, beautifully across her pink tongue. The crowd around her whimpered as she approached him boldly, her dark hair flowing behind her softly.

He craned down to look at her. "You must know a great number of stories for such a long train of hair." He said. The mocking in his voice was gentler but Cerah still stiffened when he spoke.

"I was born with stories in my head. I know many things."

"They are merely stories," His wings twitched in agitation for his meal, but he felt another desire to prolong the moment. He held out a clawed hand, low enough for her to grasp. She reached up, her hand covered in a thick glove. The moment he held it the world grew warmer. He dragged her up, she was light, and held her tightly to his vast chest. He could feel her cold cheek, and smell her even more strongly than before. The cries of her people followed them as they rose into the sky, but the snow-girl made no sound until they were far away where at once she opened her mouth and moaned in sorrow.

He said nothing, did nothing and savored the agony of the moment, tasted her pain in her smell, made tangy by stressful perspiration.

His palace gleamed darkly in the night, the center of a vast wasteland. He reached the tower of his chamber with ease, welcomed by the scent of his new meal. He dropped her on the bed, and circling perched himself on the post.

She breathed quickly, her cheeks pink and her eyes bright. She was struggling it seemed to not look afraid. He cocked his head at her.

"Story-teller, you shall not live long," He said. His mouth was watering, and he felt ridiculous.

She cleared her throat and gathered her legs under her. "I know," She said. "I know..." She bowed her head. He would have killed her then, he swooped down to snatch at her arms, to press her down and feast but she caught him with a blade that she pulled from out of nowhere. She plunged the blade into his chest, piercing his heart. It threw him back and his crowed angrily over the pain.

"What... Where did you get that blade?" He half laughed half yelled. The Story-teller pulled it from his chest and shaking her winter coat from her body she stood, posed to stab him again.

"You know that that little knife won't kill me," He said, still gasping around the pain.

"Yes, but it will delay my death." She said. She was dressed in a white cloth gown, her dark hair so dark, and her cheeks so rosy and her eyes so fierce she looked like a wild bird herself.

"Not for long," He smiled and his delicate fangs glimmered.

"Might I challenge you?" She said. Her eyes blinked slowly.

"Challenge me?"

"For my life, might I challenge you? Any task I shall perform it to win my life." She straightened her back but still gripped her blade ready for his attack.

He wanted to laugh. She, challenge him? She would never win. He would not let her. Her smell and taste were too much for him to bet on... Yet... She was bold. No human woman had ever been so bold as to challenge the beast for her life. They certainly begged, cried and pleaded promised him anything if he just let them live. He'd made games of it in the past, had slaves of all kinds to tend to him and feast upon. An empty promise was not a troubling prospect for him.

"Yes," He smiled. "A challenge will be very interesting indeed." He waved a clawed hand. "Look out the window, precious, and you shall see your challenge."

The girl was hesitant to move, but she carefully stepped from the bed, and shuffled slowly to the window, never lowering her blade, and never letting go of his gaze until she reached the frame. She gasped when she looked.

He felt like laughing.

The wasteland that had once surrounded his castle was now a vast and twisting Labyrinth. The Story-teller could hardly breathe. Succumbing to himself, Jareth laughed loudly. His wound was now healed, and he felt revitalized. He flew quietly to her side, and hovering near her ear he whispered, "If you can find your way out of the Labyrinth, I shall let you go free. If you cannot within thirteen hours... You shall be mine."

The girl closed her eyes and bitter tears found their way out.

"Do you agree?" He let his sharp cheekbone brush hers.

She shivered and stiffened, but spoke a definite, "Yes."

"Then go."

She ran for the door of his chamber, her hair streaming behind her. She left her huge coat of fur behind, which he plucked up delicately in his claw to sniff while the echoes of her steps could still be heard. From the silence he rose from his chamber and stood at the highest peak of his palace to watch from above. He spotted her a few moments later, a dark shape sprinting through the maze.

"It will not be easy," He said to himself. "All the more fun for me."

Some place high in the sky, beyond what the bird-king could see a small figure floated quietly. Her hair was dark, her gown the deepest green and her eyes made of jewels were emeralds twinkling softly.

"My daughter," She whispered. "I shall guide you to freedom, no matter how long it takes."


	3. Chapter 3

The Story-teller was sweating. Unused to the heat of this place she had begun to disassemble the layer soft clothing on her body, tearing the sleeves of her cotton gown off and removing her fur undergarment from her legs. She left them where she took them off, knowing it would be useless to try and carry them with her. All she had now was her blade, her gown and her boots, which were warm but not worth getting rid of for the sake of over-heating. She missed the pain of cold so dreadfully. Ever since the king had gathered her in his arms she had been overwhelmed by a terrible heat she could barely comprehend. It pained her to move through it, clinging to her skin nastily and making her dread the hot hair she breathed. The maze around her was daunting, dark and dry, and though she was a friend to darkness thanks to the dark sky of her winter land, she was unfamiliar with darkness without stars. Fears and grievances aside she pursued her freedom diligently, never stopping to breathe and only ran onward swiftly. She tried to judge her trek by the position of the castle, visible if she only cocked her head to the side to glance at its magnitude. Atop the tower she could see the bird-king watching her, and it built a feeling of incredible unease in her.

She had thought that she was making progress, and having not looked up from the path for a while she came across steps. She peered up and wanted to scream. The castle doors stood before her, cocked open as she had left them. She had run in a circle!

Turning on her heels she sprinted down a new path and soon found herself a good distance away again. How long had it been?

There was no moon here to judge time passing. No ice to comfort her. She thought back to her home village, remembered the smell of sweet smoking meats, the touch of her father's guiding hand on her shoulder, his second wife and her half-brother… She missed little Tobin most of all. He had been born like a child of the ice, fair and blue-eyed like his mother. She had told many beautiful stories to Tobin, though he was too small to understand. She and he were the youngest of the tribe members.

Her birth she knew was a struggling one; a star had shone too bright and sent her mother into a craze. Cerah was hardly born when she vanished into the wastelands of ice.

"Do not think of that…" She told herself. In the corner of her eye the dark towers of the king's palace loomed. She needed some distraction while she trudged over the barren earth between the walls of the labyrinth. She suddenly perked up and smiled.

"Once upon a time there was a beautiful young girl whose step mother always made her tends to her infant brother," She began a tale she told when Tobin was born, one that she loved to tell most of all. "And the infant was a spoiled child who wanted everything for himself and the young girl was practically a slave to his gluttonous wants. He needed only the clearest ice carvings for toys, the brightest clothes and the sweetest meats to eat, leaving the girl with ice that never glittered, clothes that were heavy and dark and meat full of fats." She giggled at the memory. She had been only fourteen winters old when she in her jealousy concocted this story for her brother. Telling it to herself was cheering and her steps quickened. She wondered if the heat was getting to her as she walked she thought she could see the faces of ghosts along the walls. Shivering animals made of darkness sweeping over the stone and brushing her ankles when she wasn't looking.

She cried out when something quite definitely touched her leg. "I just wish it was snowing!" She fell to the ground and curled her legs up to her chest. The blade was a comforting cold in her hand, but the air was so hot it was barely a sliver of relief. For the first time since her capture Cerah broke down and began to cry bitterly. It was not fair, this world was so far from her home and every aspect of this place hurt. The air was too hot and compressed her, sweating so furiously made her chilly in a sticky wet way, and even the colors hurt. The blood on the sheets of the king's bed was so bright it made her skull ache. The stone of the maze walls was a rich brown, so rich that she could hardly stand the sight of it. Everything was ugly and strange, like the fantastic stories the Gods had placed in her heart and mind. She breathed slowly, pained now by her crying and opened her eyes to a smell she recognized.

The air was suddenly crisper, cleaner. The stench of the labyrinth was no more a pungent intrusion of her nose, it was clean. The dark shadows that had been circling her were gone and light delicate flakes were falling from the sky. It had begun to snow.

The Story-teller leapt to her feet and cried out in delight. It fell gently around her body, encasing her in a bittersweet chill, dampening her hair. Finally she could feel herself again, rekindled by the bizarre gift from the heavens above her. But she had no coat to warm herself. This was no bother; she took a great layer off of the bottom of her gown and wrapped pieces of it around her hands for gloves, tying the knife into her grip with the cloth as well. Snow at her ankles she began to sprint through the icy air, tasting her homeland in its chill, seeing herself in the reflection of ice. The world became winter within an instant, and she would cherish every moment of its cold.

All this was witnessed by the bird-king, perched now on a tree not far from where she had sat upon the earth in tears. He had heard her wish for snow and granted her what she most cherished at that moment. He certainly would not let her win, but making the end of it all more pleasurable for her would make her demise all the more interesting. He recalled another girl he had taken as a house-keeper who he had played the same trick on some years before. She had been as pleasant as sunbeams when she had thought her life saved and her person favored by him. He had taken her one night into the garden east of his palace entrance and once there made a living meal out of her. She had grown too easy and was so truly shocked by his action that she had not screamed a word, no cried when he destroyed her.

The betrayal had tasted so delicate in her blood, yet her skin was tough, rougher to break then the average silky skinned mortal. She had been a treat, and he suspected it would be the same for this frost-woman. He wondered then suddenly if her taste would vary because of her frosty home. But her smell, he remembered… That was the sweetest. He could smell her even now, paces away from him, running now in her new fallen snow, flushed with the movement, smiling with such hope the king had to suppress a laugh. She was so hopeful, ready to believe that she had some chance of escape. Yet he was ready, licking the tips of his fangs, and knew she would not last the next few hours of her freedom.

"No..." Jareth had recovered from the memory, but was on the ground, winged arms spread wide, the faint ghost of Sarah lying shivering in the corner of the room. "Cerah..."

Sensation was a wicked master over the goblin king's body, he bones began to burn in his skin, and the freshly sprouted feathers gleamed with his blood. His crime was making war on his body, punishing him. He remembered that frost-girl, the story-teller with the violently long hair... He remembered what he did to her.

"Jareth..."

She should not have spoken.

"Jareth."

He moaned and rolled over onto his hand and knees. But his hands were now claws, yellow-skinned long nailed claws, red with his own blood. His head lolled heavily when he searched to see her in the shady room. She was translucent, still as tattered and raped as before, but curled in a ball, fading almost to nothing.

"I have little time, Goblin King... I am sorry, so sorry for making you this way." Her features scrunched up in pain.

The king laughed sadly, but his distorted voice made it sound like a dry heave. "Sarah... You have done no wrong to me... I was this way... So long ago... And you were living in another life..." He could no longer speak. He could hardly force himself to tell her the truth; the words were not capable of being even thought. He took a fumbling crawling step towards the little ghost. His magic skipped ahead of him, restoring her soul's beauty. Her hair was cleaned of twigs and leaves, her clothes were stripped away and in place of their tatters she was dressed in a cotton gown. He covered her feet with heavy boots. He made a little knife out of clouds for her weak hand to hold. Her injuries were gone, her ugliness was gone, and the putridity of her death was no longer present on her softly glowing soul.

"The clothes are too heavy!" She moaned. The specter crumbled under the weight. Jareth rushed to send his magic to her, thinking only of her in the moments of his conjuring. He imagined the crystal ballroom where Sarah and Cerah were one being, where their soul was finally one with itself. Yet she had been so confused. He had never loved her more than that moment.

With his magic now infused with love the clothes she wore lifted her, and did not carry her down. The ghost calmed and was able to stand shakily, breaking the distance between them. Kneeling before the monstrous king, the girl reached for his face. He shied away, enraged with himself and with her for being foolish enough to try and touch him. 

"Sarah... back away. You don't know what I am... Or what I have done to you..."

"Then show her, Jareth." The voice made the ghost startle and grasp Jareth's clawed hand before her on the floor. Her touch was softer then air.

He had not been startled by the voice. He let his eyes follow the place where the voice had come from, meeting first the sight of bare feet and the rippling edges of a beautiful green gown.

"Lady Goddess..." Jareth whispered. His ghost girl sighed in content at the sight of the woman before them.

The Lady Goddess was seven feet tall, with skin as pale as snow, hair dark as bark, and eyes like oceans, and just as cold. Her face was beautiful, but it was the rare sort of beauty that could only be beautiful with power and grace. Sarah, Jareth could feel, shook slightly, overcome by the majesty.

"Jareth of the Goblins now is the time for punishment, now is the time for you to truly learn the penalty of your murder." The voice shook the throne room, and sent a fiery trail of agitation through Jareth's heart. "You must test your mate. She lies before you in her most vulnerable state of being; she is now beyond your anger, or your capability. You are in your truest form before her and she must be shown the error of your existence. Her memories shall be restored, she shall know all once more."

He did nothing to mask his anger. "Had she the need to die so painfully? Why did you let her pass so darkly? To torment me? You torment her for the sake of punishing a bastard child of your gods?"

"Silence yourself." She had grown ominously quiet. "We... had not intended for her to die in such a way... It was a cruel way to die, but she would have died on this day anyway. The fashion in which she passes is of no concern to us. But... Perhaps it taught you the grievance of love, perhaps now you may be forgiven." The Lady Goddess turned her deep eyes to the ghost.

Jareth looked to Sarah. She was staring up into his animal eyes boldly; her perplexed heart was well hidden.

"What is it I'm missing here?" she asked gently. Her small hand lifted and cupped the side of his face, unflinching even with the touch of a sharp cheekbone. But he had forgotten she was already dead, how could she feel?

"You... are unaware of your memories... of your first life..." He was struggling to get air into his body, and the delay was paining his head. "I can only show you... and dearest... forgive me..."


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: If you are leaving a negative review, make it constructive. No one learns from "sorry, just no"… And excuse the typos; they were pretty horrible in the last chapter.

A Lady Goddess in green and silver stood on the edge of two worlds watching the king and the girl. The girl was a splendid human, a blessed human. The king was a damned creature, and a hungry demon. The Ones From Above had long since dreaded his behaviors… yet his rule had left a strange kind of peace over the lands. No wars were fought when all banded together for the sake of protection. But she knew like all the others that his time was coming for judgment. The fate of the girl would decide it all, but neither party was quite aware of this. The Lady knew he hungered for her; she had been made for exactly that purpose to attract him. She was the piece in the great design that would bring down this dreaded monarch. The God of Creation had made her that way, and all were witness to it.

The Lady shook out her long hair, and sniffed the air. Beneath her the king was perched in a branch, watching the girl make her journey. The king was wriggling with his desires and hunger, near bursting from the inside out, and the Lady Goddess was now beginning to worry. Had they unintentionally made her desirable scent too strong for him? Troubled, but restrained by her station as sentinel, she could only watch.

Cerah was exhausted, but thriving. Her skin was cooled by the air, and the promise of more snow hung in the chill, a cold fever in her was growing for it. The shadows that had plagued her before were gone, but she was noticing figures hiding around her, men and woman peaking eyes around the Labyrinth walls and staring at her. She saw only small bits of them, fingers around a wall, an eye peering from a hole in the stone wall and other such partial people watching her. At first they were frightening, but as she walked confidently farther they seemed almost amused by her, delighted in the entertainment.

"Hello there!" She called when young blue eyes met hers around the corner of a wall. The gaze vanished instantly and though she chased to find them they had quite escaped her. So it happened every time she acknowledged a little spy. No matter how she called to them they dashed away and did not return to her. People of the Labyrinth, she decided were a quiet folk.

A pair of icy blue eyes caught her attention; they were peaking at her over at a wall to her left. The snow crunched dangerously loud under her feet while she approached the queer set of eyes, and she prayed that this time the creature would stay still. When she rounded the corner she was face to face with a little man. She blinked down at him and him up at her in a curious, sad kind of way. He was wrinkled and tanned, and a shock of white hair peaked out from under a leather cap on his bulbous head.

"Hello…" Cerah said gently.

"Hello." His gruff voice was a crack through the silence, gruff and dusty in Cerah's unused ears. But she found herself smiling.

"My name is Cerah," She nodded in greeting. "What may I ask is your name?"

The little wrinkled man made some strange hissing noise in his throat followed by a concoction of strange sounds all sounding like digestion. Then he smiled at her.

"That was…your name?"

"Yes, family name too." That made him look even sadder than before, his eyes turning timidly away for a moment.

"Do you have a nickname?"

"No, but you can make one up."

Cerah noticed among his attire of breeches, little shoes, a white shirt and vest he carried a little sack of jewels. One of his hands was always hovering over it protectively.

"Shall I call you Hog?" She asked. "The beginning of your name sounded almost like that."

The man nodded his head.

Cerah was getting agitated suddenly; her time she realized was not great.

"I do apologize, dear Hog, but I fear I need to keep moving. If I do not I will never get out of here alive."

She moved to dahs down the path but was halted by the hot grasp of the little man. He had gotten a hold of her wrist before she was able to proceed and with a very sorrowful look he said, "Sorry, but we can't lets you go."

Cerah wielded her knife toward him, aiming to slice the arm that held her. But the knife went through his arm like it was only air. Stunned Cerah swung the knife down again but it passed through the little man's arm once more. Tears of desperation were falling down her cheeks. She thrashed and fought but still the man held fast. He took hold of her other hand, ripped the knife from her hand and threw it up into the air. In a flash the giant bird-king appeared, catching the knife in a clawed foot.

His cackles rang in her eyes as he vanished over the Labyrinth walls with her only weapon.

"No!" She shrieked. Facing the short man she swung a fist to his face. There was a nauseating crunch as her hand went through the man's face and hit the stone wall behind him.

Hog released her and she crumbled to the ground in the snow, crying silently over the bloody mass of broken fingers.

"Damn it…" She moaned. "Damn it all. This is a useless trek; I'll never make it out." Her eyes shot upward. "And you! Pathetic coward! You made me lose my only weapon, that was my only chance!"

"It would not have mattered, dear lady." Hog was in tears now too. "Even if you had made it out, he would have made a meal of you."

"I know!" She spat. Her hand was throbbing, and her pulse was drumming so quickly she could feel it jumping in her throat. "I know… But that knife could have ended my life without him feasting upon me."

"What?" Hog came down on his knees. Cerah realized now what he was, kneeling in the snow, but making no imprint.

"You are a ghost." She said softly.

"We all are here." He said. He took her wounded hand in his own, but Cerah could hardly feel the touch. How had been able to restrain her? "We have all lost something here, to the king. Our lives, or families, our souls. We once believed in him, now we are trapped here."

"But this Labyrinth... it was not always here…"

"No, but we were. We came from the same place he did. The eldest of us anyway, we followed him when he fell to earth a new born demon. We are his henchmen, his country, his lovers and followers."

"But why?" She was earnestly trying to understand this place, but even then the eyes of many souls were appearing around them, more then she could count.

"Because," He said gently. "We know that someday, as it is destined, he will find the other part of him born from the earth. He came from above, so she shall come from below. If she accepts him and he can overcome his evils, they will join and we shall be freed. If he cannot prevent himself from ruling her, feasting on her… We shall face millennia of punishment. We are meant to guide her, keep her safe… If he cannot find the love within himself soon enough she will die, he will suffer millennia without her and we shall become nothing but pests, trapped by his own mistake."

The Bird-King could sense the Lady behind him as he watched his meal conversing with the spirit. He made no move to speak to the goddess, she deserved no honor. But she was quite eager to speak with him.

"Found a new feast, King?" Her voice, like metal, made him uneasy uncharacteristically.

"Yes, I have," He said over his fanged mouth. He made sure his voice was more guttural than usual, deepened his earthly accent and rolled his head toward her. "I do not see how this is of any matter to you, Lady."

"She is the matter I am concerning myself about." The lady stepped off of her stair made of magic and perched on the branch beside him. "The girl is of particular concern to the gods."

"Care to explain why or will you leave me in my curiosity?" He picked a dry piece of flesh from under his clawed hand, peering at it with disgust before dropping it away.

"I shall be entirely straight with you, Bird-King; she is your ruin and salvation." The Lady cringed while the dead skin fell. "She is the spirit of goodness that you have been long lacking."

The king stiffened slightly. He let his eyes wander back down toward the girl, far below, speaking with Hog. The tiny man actually looked large next to Cerah's slightness. Though raised in the Icelands, Cerah was small and delicate, like an icicle. How could this girl in her feebleness be the so-called spirit of goodness?

Laughing, the king said, "You and all your godly friends have been drinking far too much human wine. Are you trying to say she will end my reign? She is a child." He scoffed and looked back to the Story-teller.

"She was born with all the gifts of Knowing, and the ability to lead. She will not bring you down. She is not your end. If you can find your truest form of existence through her, if you can live without succumbing to that desire of blood... She will be your queen." The Lady Goddess met his eyes and look of disgust with one of cool indifference. "Of course, you are not strong enough not to destroy her. It is all you know and all you can think to do when you come across something you want. You want this girl, Jareth." His spoken name was unnerving. His feathers were all on edge. "You want this girl and you will be too overcome by this desire to save her from yourself. That is what I think anyway. Not all the gods agree with me."

"I do not understand how an insignificant mortal child will ever be my equal. She is nothing to me."

"But her scent. You can smell her even if she is nowhere near you. Ever since her birth you have felt an unsettling need to consume, but never have you found the source of this passion until now. Now you know what it is, your body is urging you to fulfill the desire and destroy her. You want her now; I can see it in your eyes."

He turned hastily away from her, but knew she could still recognize his want. She was correct on all accounts, for years a need had tormented him, made him decidedly vicious. Finding her had brought a world of painful urges to his mouth and mind. Each little movement in her body was like a calling to him, he desired her, not as certainly now as before; his desire was changed slightly with recognition. He did not appreciate the way her hair hung so lazily because it would make her death so beautiful, he liked it instead because it was so beautiful alive. Her beauty he realized was a living beauty; all too easily she would sour as soon as he feasted upon her... But still the blood did call, promising his delight, promising that her death would be as inconsequential as any other mortal's passing. She would simply taste ever more delicious. The taste buds in his mouth almost cried out in want, his stomach was so painfully empty that it rumbled like a storm cloud and clenched in pain.

"You are pathetic..." The Lady said.

He turned fierce eyes to her. "It is my nature. I was born a king; I may have what I desire from my subjects." He looked back at Cerah, who was looking displeased with Hog. What they spoke of he did not care. Hog was probably detailing the boring existence of the souls that had been spying on her. The king cared little for their loyalty, they could assist her all they liked, steal back her weapon. It did not matter. Her blood was singing in her veins, the rushing of the liquid was so loud in the king's ears.

"You will be punished for destroying her. She is meant for great things, the balance of the world will be destroyed if you cannot find your truest form."

She was gone before he could answer, vanishing through a portal and escaping Time.

The king looked back to the girl, but she was on the move again, Hog following her quietly, quickly, glancing nervously around the branches of trees before spotting the bird-king.

Jareth did not wait to give instruction, but simply brandished his wings and took to the grey sky, irritated by the chill of falling snow.


	5. Chapter 5

Sarah stood by the door, staring out onto the dark street. She knew her college community was safe, knew through and through to the core of her being. Around her the hum of pages turning, and pencils scratching notes grew. There was a rush for finishing, the library was closing very soon, and Sarah had only just finished her essay with five minutes to spare. Clothed now in a warm sweater the color of snow, the girl was standing at the door watching the night nervously. Normally it would not trouble her so; a dark night for a walk in warm early autumn air was a favorite pass time for her. This time, her nerves were wound tightly and she was agitated by a horrible sense of fear. There was something different about the night this time that made it distinctively more ominous.

"Come on feet." She urged under her breath. "Move."

A sudden ring from her blocky cellphone jolted her and she dove into her pocket to silence the technology.

"Hello?" Now with no option but to leave Sarah bravely stepped out into the hushed evening air. The darkness enveloped her softly and as she listened to her roommate explain the phone call she had received from her mother and what horrible feelings it instilled this time, she counted steps to their apartment.

When she was little, Sarah had always wondered if she perceived things a few moments after they had actually happened. As though experiences only lived in memories instead of in the actual moment. She logically explained this to her father once while explaining that he was only missing her mother in a memory. He could not feel anything in the moment, she said, because our brains are too slow to understand it until after it happened. Losing love, she knew many years later felt much the same way. When Sarah had entered the Labyrinth she could feel in her bones that her brain was accepting information and perceiving what she felt the moment she felt it.

Death, she discovered, was just the same way.

Sarah Williams, age twenty-four, medium build, dark haired and green eyed died and felt everything suddenly in the moment. Her soul made a cracking sound, like a carrot being bitten into, when it split from her body. She was not sure exactly where she was or what had happened, her memories of life were vague, all except a select few. She felt herself craning up towards the white ceiling in the room where she died, her head ablaze with those infamous memories of the Labyrinth.

A dark blue shape appeared through the ceiling above her and reached a sturdy looking hand toward her. It beckoned gently and she reached for it, not sure if it really mattered what happened now that she was dead.

The grip the hand provided was warm as fire, but in a kind way and with a comforting tug she felt herself rise from her room, leaving a mauled body behind to rot on earth. The blue shape with his hand around hers began to take a true shape: a man in a blue cloak. He turned to face her and smiled a kind smile like a thousand sunrises Sarah would never see. His skin was as blue as his cloak.

"I know this old soul," He said, and his voice was like rain water, clean and healthy, but very sad.

"What?" Sarah was surprised at her own voice. Around them its sound bounced off of walls of a great room of color, like stain glass reflections from sunlight. She sounded different somehow, more youthful, less… empty? The fullness of her sound was only matched now by her new appearance and it was a shocking sight to see. Her hair had grown to her knees, silky and wavy, decorated by little snow crystals. Her clothes were white, a dress that was soft and down to the floor. She was peering at the odd little boots on her feet when the hooded man said something.

"You have a lot of magic residue left on you." He said. By the sound of his tone and his anxious blue eyes, shockingly dull next to his bright blue skin, this was not a good thing.

Sarah was wondering what he meant when he came up next to her and taking a strand of her hair shook it out. A cloud of glitter fell from her hair and vanished in little clouds of red around her feet.

"What was that?" She said.

"Magic, still clinging to you. Filthy stuff."

"I quite like it!" Sarah said and smiling combed her hands through her hair to watch the fiery glitter spill free. It tickled her hands softly and made her smile wider. Her voice was still wildly different from what she was used to, but let it be for the sake of her delight. She was too amused with her new little trick to care. The Blue Man was staring at her with a pained curiosity.

"The Fae have touched you." He said. "That is not a good thing, Sarah."

"What do you mean? Fae aren't real." She was lying and he must have been aware, because he crossed his arms over his chest and the cloak sleeves slipped to reveal bizarre black tattoos on his arms.

"You were… a Labyrinth runner?" He asked.

"Good guess!" She clapped and huge clouds of the magic livened the air.

"He really left an impression on you." The Blue Man did not try to hide his disgust. In fact he made it apparent with a sneer toward her magic. "No one has ever had such a magical effect… You are an old soul." He gasped slightly. "You are… Sarah…"

There was a sharp pain on the back of Sarah's head like a hammer smashing into her neck. She crumbled to the floor. Something grabbed her wrist and pulled violently, something else took a hold of her ankle and, with nails digging into her skin pulled her the other was painfully. Nothing was visibly holding her wrist but she could see the Blue Man drawing his hands over ankle trying to grip her by the leg.

"What's happening?!" She cried. She began swinging her arm to wretch her wrist free, but the hold was too strong on her. The invisible captor pulled ever harder, but she realized it wasn't hurting her. The Blue man growled in frustration and let his nails sink into her ghost flesh. This did hurt and she cried out in pain. Weren't the dead not supposed to feel pain? Unless this was hell…

"Your dreams want you…" The blue Man said around a gritted mouth.

"What…?" She turned to face her wrist again and saw herself staring back her, bright green eyes, long dark hair and a look of pure agony. The jade eyes read _help me… Come back with me_.

The ghost girl was stilled by this expression, and all at once when she accepted this doppelganger the Blue Man lost his grip of the ghost and she was torn away through space and time. Through the chaos of this transportation Sarah was face to face with this girl, this thing that the man had called her "dreams." It certainly looked like her, but it was different. The hair was tied in a loose and messy ponytail, she was blood splattered and maimed, and wearing the shards of Sarah's white sweater from before.

The girl lifted a delicate hand to Sarah's eyes and closed them. There was a feeling of great pressure all across her body and she was suddenly in a very familiar place.

Standing in the dirty, chicken inhabited throne room of the Goblin King's palace, Sarah heaved a sigh of relief.

Her relief was short lived when she saw how horrible she appeared. By leaving the Blue Man she had taken up her appearance of death, the bloodied body of her corpse. She had to change herself; it was the only option for her. Remembering the magic residue she closed her ghostly eyes and imagined herself clean, new and beautiful again. She tried as well with no success to shave of a few pounds around her waist. When she opened her eyes again she was pleased with her new image, though cracked and a little uncontrollable, she had not been able to make it exactly believable in whole.

A door opened, sending a wave of nervous electricity through her and into the chamber entered the Goblin King.

It was the moment her eyes saw him. It was in the brief space of time when he had appeared that she felt a shock of emotion running through her weak image. It was him, that man, the man. Or thing, goblin, Fae, whichever he was or whatever he really was, but she knew him. He was changed certainly, softer looking almost, with more human tendencies then before. His hair... looked sane. She was not exactly sure if she liked that or not, but was happy that his expressions, even in his surprise at seeing her there, were the same, chilled sarcastic glares of a spoiled king. This was uplifting in her, her expectations of him were fulfilled, and her delight in him was a new kind. She remembered her fear of him then when she was young and how she overcame that fear. He had truly taught her what it meant to grow up, how terrible it was, and yet how fantastic it could be. The offers made to her that day, she knew, would probably never be made again, but she was a different person now, as was the king.

She found that in his eyes he was looking at her with a kind of love wound around the colors of his irises. She was startled by the power of his gaze, the longing in his face and yet she found herself wondering mildly if she would ever feel that kind of love for him. She did not love him.

Not yet anyway, but she could feel the "perhaps" assuredly in her heart. Not now, not yet. Maybe in the next few seconds, or weeks, or years. She was aware though that he may very well love her already, if what he admitted nine years ago was true.

As they spoke she began to feel a comfort in him, conversing, she realized, was easy. But when his magic toyed with her she could feel the pain of it, like a blade slicing her, trying to carve away the disguise she had made. She struggled against him, knowing under all her conviction for preventing him pain of seeing her, she would not win.

The little man followed the Story Teller as she stomped through the fallen snow. There had to be some device with which she could use to destroy herself. Her detest for the Bird-King's satisfaction in her was growing, like an angry bird in her belly. She was hungry now, tired, but rearing for her freedom. Hog at her heels was apologizing to her, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. Every few steps in the maze she uncovered branches she trod over, brushing them clean, looking for one she could break to produce sharp pieces.

In her little Ice Town, suicide was a troubled end, one met with little mourning for the dead. It was a weakness to self-sacrifice, but Cerah had lost all care for such ideas. Her concerns now were in her own soul, dreading a final resting place in this spirit-trap.

"Hog," She said. "You have at your waist I think, your sack of jewels. Have any of them sharp edges with which I could carve?"

The little man silenced himself and wordlessly caught up to her pace and handed her the little bag.

"The diamond," He said. "Near the bottom."

Cerah found the jewel quickly for it cut the tip of her third finger and was stained with a few drops of her blood when she removed it. She gave Hog his jewels back and began to carve at the piece of branch she had found under the snow. Her companion was quiet for a while, watching her work as they trotted though the maze in abandon. Occasionally his eyes turned skyward, where she knew he was searching for the king.

"Has he grown bored of watching his prey and left?" Cerah asked.

Hog made a sound of question in his throat. "Not like him."

"Then he is watching us in secret. But tell me, does he have fine hearing?"

"I don't know," Hog answered honestly. "He would probably have destroyed my jewels now if he knew what you were truly making that tool for."

"I suppose you are correct," She looked at the small branch. It was sharpening well, but not enough to cut finely yet. It needed more cutting. But Cerah needed a mental distraction.

"Shall I tell you a story, Hog? One to pass the time?"

The man was quiet, thinking. Then he nodded.

"Once, and only once, as things always happen, a young woman found herself lost in a land of ice. She had no memory, no clothing to keep her warm and had fallen from above, by means which she did not know...

She had no name, or none she could remember. Awaking with her face in the snow she had cried out and leaped from its cold, shaking and sobbing. Ahead she could see only vast darkness, the snow around her ankles was dark too, and so unfamiliar to her. No moon or stars were in the sky to guide her, but in her frozen blight she pressed forward and began to run, lightly, like a forest fawn over the ice and white. Soon she found a light, far in the distance but a light all the same. With skin frozen over, yet surviving the pain, she ran ever faster.

When morning came and the Great Star shone over the Icelands, the folk of a little village found in the morning a figure in the snow. At first they were certain she was dead, having no clothes and a sheet of ice covering her skin. But when they went to fetch her body for burial, she woke from slumber and shocked the town. They asked for her name, but she had none, so the chieftain took her under his care and named her Aisling Eirwen, dreams of white snow. She was pale as snow, with eyes a color they had never seen before, the same color of leaves on a forest tree, the only green they had ever seen. Her hair too was uncommonly dark, a pigment richer than any of their fair-haired beauties. In the little town she became popular, though she knew nothing of her previous living; she had charming qualities and an air of superior grace, elevated and calm. She had little talent that was useful, but made her trade instead by telling stories. She did not know from where the stories came or what they meant, but they were enchanting tales of places of mystery, fantasy and love. She told tales of battling gods, of great horses who stood sentinel over the cradles of star-children, creatures of water who could charm death into the bodies of men and many other wonderful things. Eventually, though young she appeared she was taken as a bride to one of the town's best ice fishers, a highly regarded noble of the village. When time passed and the woman produced a daughter she was suddenly aware again of who she was and from where she hailed.

The evening of her daughter's birth she fell into a horrible rage, raining down filth and slander upon her husband and the monster she claimed she bore. Try as he might, the young man could not calm her and watched in horror with his child in his arms as she tore apart the house, the cradle he had made from ice and her. Her long dark hair she pulled from her scalp in large quantities crying "What have I done? Laid with a mortal and sinned as they said I would... I have become the cursed. Filth! Filth! I have borne my filth!" When she made to attack the child her husband acted against her and ran from the home to the palace of the chieftain. He begged for his help and said his wife had gone insane, trying to attack their only child just born. The chief took the infant in his hands, she was small and pale, with a head full of dark hair.

"I shall keep the child so you may fetch your wife to me. Take my three eldest sons with you."

Her husband did as he was told and together the men retrieved the screaming Aisling.

"Give me the spawn of my sin!" She cried.

"Calm yourself woman." The chief spoke forcefully and she silenced immediately, but it was a dangerous quiet. "Now, tell us what you mean? We have no true idea as to what you are saying. Have you rediscovered yourself?"

"I have, and I am appalled at the way I have acted under this curse of madness." She eyed the child in his hands horribly. "I am not of your kind, and I have spawned with your people and proven a terrible bet true."

"Do explain, but first, tell us your name." The chief said calmly. His grip on the swaddled infant was a sturdy one, and no malice from her eyes could shake him.

"I shall never give you my name. Names, of my kind, are too above your pathetic brains. I shall say that I hail from the kingdom of the gods. A place none of you shall ever reach. I made a bet with one of my companions that if placed under a spell as such, of where I would lose who I was; I would never couple with a human. If I did then the birth of our child would return my memory, but if under a year of living if I did not wed a human then I would remember myself and return above."

All in the presence of her now shook, realizing her power, and the stories she told had been true. They bowed before her, and did not raise, her greatness now a terrible thing. The Chieftain in his seat did not bow and neither did her husband, who stepped close to her with quiet eyes and a tight lipped grimace.

"Why," He asked. "Did you make such a bet?"

"Why? Because, the gods in my company are always falling in love with humans, wedding them, creating horrid little half-lings with them... I wanted to prove that as a goddess I would not be tempted by any man or bear their children..."

"It seems that you have failed." The chief said quietly, looking down at the baby.

"I must destroy the product of my failure." She said. She reached out a pale hand. "Give me my child."

There was no hesitation in his answer. "No."

"She will live a life of terror; her destiny was told to me thousands of years ago. I must destroy her, for her own sake."

"You want to destroy her for selfish reasons!" The Chief stood. "You are ashamed of losing your bet, but she will never know you or anything of you. You can leave now and forget her existence. Leave this child in peace!"

"She will be the bride of the Demon Bird-King!"

Her declaration left the chief in silence. He sat upon his throne quietly.

The goddess did not move. "I mean only to save this child. She may be my shame, but I'll not have her live to wed a beast."

"You must be lying. Leave now; she shall never be the bride of the demon." The chief was quiet.

The goddess turned away then. Wracked by her shame and desperation she left without a word. They never saw her face again.

The child she bore grew up with the love of the village to cater to her needs. She was born knowing all of the stories her mother had known and even more yet. The town gave her the title of a Wise woman. She grew her hair long, to symbolize her ever growing knowledge of tales. The story ends here, with the child grown, destiny waiting on the edge of her world...

"Her mother, it seemed had gotten destiny wrong. She was not to wed the king, but rather serve as feast for him, and this was to be her death." Cerah stopped speaking and looked down at the branch she had carved.

Hog gasped in awe at its sharp tip, white with wick.

"Or shall it end that way, Hog?" She twirled the stick in her hand. Then ran it across her palm. A thin red line was left and a stream of bubbling blood rose from her pale skin. "I think not." She whispered.


	6. Chapter 6

The Bird-King never thought much about the way he smelled. He was aware that it must have been a fairly rotten stench, something like rust and meat. It was the cleanliness of the snow that made him consider it, as he walked on his terribly dirty feet through its whiteness he left tracks, and trails of mess behind him.

He was not sure when he landed in the snow, somewhere not far from where the Story-Teller had been walking and he followed the tracks she and Hog left. He had feasted casually not far from the labyrinth and now, still covered in the remains of the meal he felt a new consciousness of his general appearance. He was messy, his hair was a tangle of feathers, he was sure there was a bone from some wisp of a meal that had gotten lost up there. He felt it scratching at his skull occasionally, but never troubled himself to remove it. The feathers across his chest were white-gold... but only under the layers of dried flaking gore that had accumulated over years. He brushed it with a claw and grimaced as it made a horrible scratching sound, the mess was so thick. He tried to scratch it off, but ended up removing more feathers from his chest then cleaning them. A wretched scream from his mouth when the feathers came out shocked himself into realization and he promptly gave up. What good would sprucing do him? Rolling his tongue over his sharp jagged teeth he smiled. Though he may be covered so grossly with his old meals, he was still a handsome bird.

The feathers circling his face were clean and long, soft and dark. Permanently stained, but clean for the most part. His wings he never cared much for, they were elegant, wide and thickly feathered and equally as gory as the rest of him. More dirt and grass and clumps of sand had gathered in the folds of the feathers on his wings more than anywhere else on his body, mostly because he rarely folded his wings up nicely, but rather dragged them behind himself, collecting all kinds of grubby things as he walked.

The ends of his wings were freezing now, dragging through the snow. They were damp after so much snow and itching. Forcing the irritation of the wings aside Jareth followed blindly the scent of the girl. It was sweaty and muggy in a very pleasant way. Soothing too for his nose to feel the tang of her inside, rushing past his throat and filling his lungs with the smell of a flower in a winter storm. He caught a new smell at one moment that made him pause, and he opened his eyes for the first time in a while of trailing her.

There was a splash of color on the snow, bright red and violating to his eyes. He crouched on his legs precariously then stretched to bring his pointed beak to smell the puddle of blood. At first he hoped the Story-teller had killed Hog in some furious revenge, but he found himself quite wrong when the overwhelming scent of her blood took over him. His eyes shot up. His blood was electric in his veins, moving through him violently, he felt rage inside him growing. He shot into flight spiraling through the halls of the maze, searching for her. He would find her, and he would... Do what? He slowed and settled suddenly.

Why had he been so enraged? What madness had sent him into fury, where the scent of her spilled life should have instead made him delightfully hungrier?

Shaking his head, he let the questions go, he was too aware of her now to care what his usually submissive mind was feeling. He flew slowly this time, savoring the seconds of his hunt.

Cerah had never known what pain was like for a very long period. She had been hurt before certainly badly hurt. Burned once in an accident, but was healed very quickly. She had never let herself bleed for a long period of time.

Hog was making terrible moaning sounds and fidgeting with every cut she made and every drop of blood that darkened the snow. But she was persistent. She had settled in her heart that dying by her own hand as gently as she could perform, would be better than in the mouth of the Bird-King. Her soul was at stake here, she wanted to be free.

"Hog," Her voice was a whisper. Her arms and legs had been slashed many times, and many bloody rivers ran down her pale skin, she had drawn the sharp twig over her forehead and blood had shaded her eyelids and dried there, partially frozen in the chill. "Hog, should I tell you another story? It's a lovely one, a love story."

The man looked very small, like he was shrinking. "Yes," He said. "Yes, tell me the story."

"This," She whispered and gasped as she cut her arm quite close to her wrist. "This is a story... a story of two lovers, who weren't really lovers. The man you see loved the woman quite a lot. But the woman was not quite sure...

When she was just a girl, the man tended to her every wish, most in secret, but her greatest desire he sought to fulfill by means of trickery. Her dreams were quite fantastical. She saw things behind the eyelids of her dreams knew things and longed for these things. But she lived in a world where magic was considered a fable, just a story with no truth. When she met this magical man who loved her, she learned how real things could actually be. Magic too found her and fell deeply in love with her and trailed behind her heels always.

The man who loved her, was really a monster in disguise, who was trying to heal himself with the love he felt. And there were many gods, and Fae and men who did not want him to reach this salvation. Legend said that once he did, all creatures, gods, humans, Fae, monsters, everyone would become equal beings and natural love would be restored to an unbalanced world. There are those who seek inequality, not for its evils but for the good it reaps them alone. There are many selfish creatures that live on this world, all parallel to each other, seeing but never touching, never loving.

So the gods fought to separate the two of them, planting a seed of mistrust in her heart, and turning her from him and all that he offered. The girl soon forgot everything about him. One night, when she stepped out into the lonely streets of her village, two demons dressed as men tore her to pieces, deflowering her and leaving her to die in the street. Her spirit sought freedom and her dreams carried her to her home, her forgotten man in the far away world of magic…

"The story has no ending." Cerah said. "Or none that I have known yet. Sometimes I feel as though I know the end, can see it… But it never appears, not completely." Her voice was soft as new falling snow, touching Hog's ghostly heart.

She was swaying as she walked, bled, breathing raspy and sadly. Hog tried to stop her, wanting to reach out to embrace her and lay her down to rest, but he was too afraid to hurt her thrashed skin. If she managed to survive she would forever be scarred by this ordeal. She would not survive however, this they both knew.

There was a toxic smell in the air that caught Cerah's attention, dizzily she turned to look behind her, in the process tumbled to the ground in horror. Nothing was behind her but horrible dark trails of her blood, bright against the snow. Turning away she felt the sting of the snow in her wounds and cried out in pain. Hog was crying too, shaking and sputtering like a fool. She tried to pull herself up, struggled to rise, but the world was spinning softly, so softly and smelled of blood and snow and memories she had not even had yet. Memories of a different world, a face and body much the same but a heart so lost, so unknowing of its natural name.

"Is this my fate?" Her lips were against the snow, she lay half on her side, in a slump of defeat. Hog sputtered more, nastily. She wished to be rid of the coward, her heart she could feel was slowing, and the thump of its efforts to save her was loud in her head.

With heavy lidded eyes falling shut she was barely able to the fierce eyes of the Bird-King meeting her own. She could hardly feel the pain of his rough hold on her as he flew her somewhere, somewhere far away and strangely soft and almost uncomfortably warm.

"You saved me?" Sarah's ghost ripped herself out of the memories, and anxiously rubbed her arms. The pain of it felt so real, the steps so cold and defeated.

Jareth could hardly speak through his sorrows. "The memories are not complete; you need to see what happened next Sarah... Cerah."

"No. Before we go any farther I must address someone else."

She turned sharply and there was power in her bright green eyes and fury in her naked soul. Her spectral skin turned rosy, her hair grew suddenly as long as it had once been. With the recollection of her name, her home, and her life her transformation elevated. Across her arms fine white lines appeared, one across her forehead and so too lines over her legs, like brands and terrible reminders. She faced the Lady Goddess in green and silver, a woman who had had many names, one in particular which meant quite a great deal to the Story Teller.

"Mother," She said.

The Lady blinked her vibrant eyes and suddenly smiled. It was the sort of expression meant for very naughty children who were still persistently being bad, the kind of smile one reserves only for those one must truly hate beyond measure.

"My daughter," She cooed. "I only wanted to protect my little girl. You could be so much, more than anything this hell beast could ever help you become. I admit I left you at your birth. It was very wrong of me, but I was so young."

"Not so young as to not understand the severity in your abandonment. What you sought to alter you fulfilled. You have spent my existences in pursuit of my demise, my end, so the world you treasured would never have to change." Cerah turned back to the hulking bird creature on the floor. In her delicate clean hand she gathered up his claw, wincing at the stiff sharp nails on the wiry fingers. "Our coupling will bring balance. He is no demon, he is my other half."

"You would forgive him for the things he has done? All of his treacheries?" Her goddess mother could see how her soul was reforming, immortality was weaving into her through the magic she carried and she was slowly transforming into a goddess.

"I would forgive him even if he destroyed even my very soul. I do not love him." She paused when she heard him let some strange mournful soul out. "I do not love him as I would love another being. I love him as another part of myself. You both believe my memories of what happened in the finale of my first run are a mystery to me. When I must admit to you each the knowledge of my first death is as clear to me as your terrible gazes."

"Then speak it daughter! Speak what this monstrosity has done to you. Speak and tell us with an honest heart that you can forgive your murderer." Her mother's bones seemed sharper, the beauty of her face less ethereal and more animal. The green irises the two women shared were much uglier and sour in the eyes of the elder.

Cerah still held the mournful bird's claw and turned to face him with the cautious eyes of one seeking to heal the hurt. His own eyes had returned to his marred face, blue and oddly shaped, but still that proud soul, the proud powerful creature. In her eyes she could see the way their souls were the same, how their similarities were evenly equal and their differences, many in number, fit together like a stone broken in half.

When she spoke it was only for him, that other piece of her, and his eyes began to drip the same tears as she did, and they breathed the same breathes.

"I lay in the snow, yet he found me and he cried like an animal, for though he did not know it, the Bird King was losing his mate…

Cerah woke with the taste of blood on her lips, yet it was not her own. It was too salty, almost unnatural, as though the blood of a thousand were mixed into one liquid. She had a feeling of fullness about her, starkly different from the chill emptiness as she was bleeding to death.

"How foolishly you behaved, Story Teller." The Bird-King said.

Her eyes moved to see them, but they felt fat in her skull, overstuffed with new blood. He was sitting beside her, wings awkwardly askew, one draped over the side of the bed, the other curled around her like a huge winged cage. His pose may have seemed almost protective were it not for the way he peered at her, hungrily. There was too a light of anger in his shadowed eyes and she could not bear to see it.

"Did you think you would escape me, precious thing?" He laughed. "You have a grand courage, I shall grant you that. You would bleed to death, rather than die by my hands. It is a wonderful gift though, child, to die by me. You shall never journey to the land of the dead. You shall stay here and live in my lands, a spirit forever at peace here."

"What have you done to me?"

"Done to you?" He looked genuinely offended. "I have saved you. Fed you the blood from my own body when you cried for it. Saved you from yourself. I have done nothing to you which you did not desire."

Cerah could have hit him. Had his heavy blood not made her so weary she would have reached up to his face and clawed him with her nails, dragged the skin from his face and disfigured him worse than he already was. And he could see that hungry in her eyes, the need to cause him harm and he smiled.

"You have a fiery soul, Cerah."

She hated the way he said her name, hated the letters sounds in his mouth and against his teeth. The way he whispered it, like a prayer, was so mocking. It ripped at her heart, to have him be the last to ever call her name to her.

"I hate you."

Almost as soon as she had said these words, something in her told her they were not true. The look in his eyes was puzzled, slightly humored but still confused.

"You hate me?" He smiled. "What if I were to change myself then?"

He slid lower on the bed she laid in so he lay beside her leaden body. His wings shrank into his body and vanished. The feathers he was covered in dissolved from his body and in their place was the tanned skin of any ordinary man, and a nude man at that. His face changed as well, the hard boned beak shrank away to a noble sharp nose, the other features of the face just as defined and elegant. His hair was the color of the missing feathers, shining white-gold and hanging in lazily mess. He turned this new human body on its side and peered at her.

She stared back at him, in a gaze he may have considered amazed, yet she was far from amazed at the sight of him. Recognition was running through her body, she knew this man.

Finding the strength in her to move she surged toward him like a wave of light and took his strange sneering mouth with her own. The familiarity in the touch rang through her like a bell, star crackled behind her eyes and memories of all kinds, from the past, present, and the future made her heart and soul ablaze with truth.

The king was shocked at the touch of her mouth, the way it moved against his and loved him. For a moment, all seemed settled and at ease, this touch was all that ever he needed… But the moment passed too soon.


	7. Chapter 7

The Story Teller gazed at him with eyes like the greenest sea with a look of pure love. Her lips were swollen with the touch she had provided him, glowing with blood beneath the pink skin. Though her body smelled putrid with the stink of the blood he had let spill from his body into hers, he could still catch the hint of her sweetness beneath it, and how the scent sang to him in a new voice he could not comprehend why. The moment her lips had left his he had longed for the touch again; indeed he craned toward her and kissed her again, surprising them both with the gesture.

"What are you?" He said, in a very human sounding voice.

She blinked dazedly and her eyes slid closed as she kissed him again. The feel of her was like another world grasping his heart. Her fingers in his soft human hair were gentle and weak, but trembling. Her whole body was trembling, and losing its strength. He worried for a moment if it was simply his wretched blood inside her, but a little sound in the back of her throat ushered in a new idea.

"Jareth…" She whispered against his mouth. Had he even told her his name? He could not remember.

He rolled over on top of her, their bones poking awkwardly, but no distractingly as they both clawed at each other's faces trying to prevent any unwanted separation. It was a mess of contact, their mouths together while he suddenly felt the need to touch her elsewhere and everywhere.

This desire was far keener than the urges he had felt while hunting her in the Labyrinth. This was pure natural want of this creature. He released her mouth to kiss her neck, her collarbone, the valley between her breasts. He was plagued by the cotton of her dress, but he waited not a second before tearing the clothing away. He removed all clothing from her and held the pale skinned body, ablaze with warmth against his very human chest.

The proceedings would have continued as sweetly as they had begun, little pain would have been felt, leaden blood would have been cleansed but a dark pair of eyes was watching from a shadow in the dim room. They crackled with rage, determined not to be defeated by the course of pure love, the Lady Goddess lifted a slender hand and sent a stream of green fire towards the back of the newly made man. The flame made contact with the back of his neck and from that source his feathers sprouted once more, his fangs sharpened, his claws replaced the hands luxuriously caressing his love, and wings burst from his back, ripped his skin clean off and blood splattered the couple.

The change that came over his body sent a shock wave through both bodies. Cerah cried out, for suddenly the soft fingers were sharp talons digging in to her still scabbing flesh, reopening barely healed wounds. The king cried out too, for suddenly he was overwhelmed by the scent of his meal, she reeked of sweet blood, boiling under thick delicious skin that he yearned to sink his teeth into. She was making perfect little moans of pain, and it was eliciting a new addition to his blood lust and he felt growing tremors of delight somewhere under his feathers. He found the source of need, and acted upon the desires of his flesh. This unloving sex hurt. Cerah felt her soul splitting in two pieces, whatever had caused his transformation had rendered their joining souls separate again, and she felt every thrusting pain of it in her bleeding body. Above her, his wild eyes peered darkly through a foliage of feathers. He convulsed suddenly, with his physical lust spent he moved slowly, achingly toward the middle of her chest where her heart beat loudly under pink skin. Before she could gasp for air his fangs penetrated the quivering flesh and with no hesitation tore the skin away, with a loud wet rip. Cerah went snow-blind with pain, a soundless scream drew cracking air out of her lungs, she could hear the bird-king slurping and chewing on her skin and muscle. He dove for another bite, opening the gap in her chest even wider than before, and blood squirted violently in every direction from her body.

In the shadows her mother turned away, unable to watch, even though it was her dearest wish. Her world was saved; destiny was changed to suit the gods once more. She vanished into the wall, stepping back into her  
homeland in the Otherlands. Her daughter watched with knowing eyes streaming with tears. Her heart beat so fast until the King tore it from her, pressed it against his lips with a violent moan and sucked it clean of her sweet tasting  
blood. He did not see her die; he did not feel her soul pass through him or crash against his own.

It was hours when he lay beside her blue body, waking from a fed stupor before he realized what he had done. He was covered head to toe in her blood, the blood around his middle a gasp of red that sang or rape. The redness streaked across his face mocked him. He felt the feathers he had treasured fall away, his hair shortened, his hands softened. He met the wide eyed gaze of her corpse with the soul and body of a man. He stared at her, spread out across the bed, her legs open, revealing a dead river of red where blood had been flowing. A gaping hole had taken over her torso; he could not even find or see her breasts amid the torn muscle and meat. The neck he had kissed was riddled with tooth marks, deep holes where her last breathes struggled not to drown in and the face above this neck was mostly untouched. Her lips were swollen, but blue, not the bright pink they had been, and at the corner of her mouth a little trail of blood had begun dripping. Green vibrant eyes were now glass marbles, vacant and deflating in her skull. He shook as he reached to touch her delicate face, the skin was still soft, and like new snow it was icy.

"No..." He could not fathom the mistake. He gathered her up in his arms, held her wet dead body up to his own. Naked he rocked like that for a long time, even as her body sagged and she began to smell like sin.

"Jareth..."

"Who is there?" He shot around and met terrible gazes with the intruder. It was a man, tall, well-muscled with bright blue skin. The Soul Bearer. For a moment Jareth's spirits lifted and still clutching her body to his own he stumbled to the floor with his free arm outstretched imploringly.

"Spirit! Please! I have made a terrible mistake; I could not contain my evil! Restore, please, my other half."

The Blue Man shook his head at the mournful creature sadly and spoke with a thunderous whisper. "I cannot fix your mistake, but I shall tell you of your future. She may return to you once and only once. The gods permit it, one reincarnation, and one more chance where she may return to you. You will, if destiny is fulfilled, marry her in the deepest sense. As one the world around you shall be restored."

"What am I to do in the waiting? When shall she return? How shall I live as a being I do not know?" he looked down at this unfamiliar body. Human-like but stinking of magic.

"Your punishment is as follows: you and the rest of the spirits trapped in your land shall be doomed to monstrosity until her return. I deem each soul here 'goblin' and you shall be their king and they shall plague you in your many years. Many shall you test with your great maze and all shall fail and your numbers shall grow. But one day, she will return to you. She will return and be the queen you have desired."

The now Goblin King said nothing, he could feel the growing change.

"Fabricate the dreams of others, but above all others, be her slave. The world then, shall find its peace."

When the great blue man vanished suddenly Jareth found he was alone. Her body was gone now as well. The room was empty, dark and icy. There was a click, a snap, the sound of scratching feet. Then the doors  
burst open and a gaggle of nasty smelling creatures with bulbous eyes and limbs appeared before him. His goblins.  
They nipped at his naked body, tugged the strands of wild hair and sneered at him. One stood out amongst the rest, a blue eyed creature, who was not quite goblin, yet no longer a man. The spirit that Cerah had named Hog stood staring at Jareth sadly, a small dwarf clinging to the bag of jewels he carried. The king grimaced at him, feeling himself grow angry. He scrambled to his feet and screamed "Silence!"

At his command there was a great hush. So began the rule of the Goblin King. So began his wait, and the world's wait, for Cerah.

"I wish the goblins would come and take you away… right now."

The words. The right words. He opened his eyes, readied himself for his great reveal, wondering if she would remember, wondering if she would like the way he looked now. It was a terribly foolish way to think, but his years spent in wait of her. She had been well hidden for a number of years, but he had found her. She was even more beautiful, fierier, and very young and the moment he saw her he could not understand why he had destroyed her, or how it had even been in his power to do so. He wanted to praise the ground she stepped on, but at the same time wanted equal praise for his own dirt. He felt a funny need for her, a love for her that yearned for her love in return.

She was quite young though, and some secret rule had it, as it always was, that he could not tell her what truly everything meant.

"You have no power over me."

Her eyes looked so sad though, as though beneath all her memories of this life the old life fought for remembrance. She turned away, but he knew that he needed to wait. This was not the way.

As if she wanted to wreak havoc on his newly broken heart the Lady Goddess was waiting in his throne room the night Sarah had rejected him. She was holding one of his crystals in her long-fingered hands. In the crystal he could see the sleeping image of Sarah, arms around a Fiery, Hog, or Hoggle nearby on her bed. The red yeti lay on the floor nearby and scattered about her friends, the spirits of the Labyrinth shared in her victory. He could not help but smile at this sight, it was so sweet.

"You are still quite selfish," The Lady said. "You could not help but drug her just once to see if she may remember you. Seems your attempts were all for nothing though. She still left you."

Cerah could see then what her mother was doing. And she longed to stop it. She rose tall from the sighing monster at her ankles and faced her mother. The woman's bones were sharper than ever finally reflecting the harsh angles of the woman within, the creature who yearned for power.

"Mother," Cerah reached her scarred arms toward her, giving her the choice. "I know the wrongs that have been done, I see them still, every moment I can feel death upon me. But I know it was not him who lost control, he is not the evil-doer. He may have been born a monster, but none may help their birth. If I could have I would have never wished to be born from you. You stood in the shadows and prevented the marriage of our souls. You poisoned his mind and body and infected him with your wishes so he may end me. We were lucky to be given the second chance. I shall give you one now too, mother. Take my hands, please and let the world just be."

Her eyes were shining gloriously, begging her mother. Her hands did not shake as she held them out; they boldly remained in the air, pale in their spectral quality.

At her feet Jareth was watching, the muscles in his body tense. He was shifting between forms, human and bird, struggling to decide, for he was worried that Cerah was still in danger.

The Lady Goddess was still hidden in shadow, suspended in a cloud of confused rage. But when she stepped into the light and took her daughter's hands, the light of her child blossomed brightly and shed light on her dark terrible eyes. Cerah rushed to embrace her and was met with a cold touch. She tried not to let it weary her love, as hard and stiff as her mother held her she wanted to cherish it as though it were the softest touch.

Jareth could see beneath the air of love, the green eyes were darkening.

"Cerah!" He dove but was too late.

With hands glowing the color of maple leaves, the Lady Goddess plunged her fingers into her daughter's ghostly back and let spread her poison through Cerah's stunned ghost. It bled through her, dying the wispy clouds of her being a dark green. The goddess huffed with the effort of performing the murder, straining against Jareth, holding him back with her burning wall of green flame.

Cerah was suspended in silence, and she stared into the glare of her mother's eyes. It was all she could see, all she could feel were those sharp fingers like blades, sinking further into her and tearing her apart. Wild memories of her previous life swam in her head, the moment of death, the look of the shadows basking darkness over her mother's skin.

Her mouth hung open, lolling to the side and she made a horrible hissing sound. Jareth echoed her cry, fighting horribly to free her, once again the dark bird he was born as, clawing at the magic that guarded the Lady Goddess and her spawn. The magic cut his feathers from his body and ripped at his skin, but still he persisted, begging the goddess to release her. Cerah still hung on the fingers of her mother, like spikes driven into her body, her limbs dangling gently.

Years of suffering at the hands of this woman had worn Cerah's soul, she could tell now that this death would be permanent; she would never rise again if she allowed her mother to demolish her. Jareth was fighting for her, straining every magic and muscle in his body. His strength, his want gave her strength, or at least the hope to find it.

She remembered the kiss from thousands of years ago, the touch that changed the bird into a man, and remembered the goddess in the shadows who changed his heart to murder her. She could see herself, in her new body, stepping out onto the streets, this time, the figures that followed her were not two young men with bright eyes, but two green demons, collared at the neck with chains leading up into the sky where, her mother, cloaked in green watched with a disgusted eye.

Every step of pain had been on the fault of this woman. This goddess of agony, who had risked everything to keep inequality. Cerah felt angry tears streaming hot down her cheeks, and in a rush felt the power of wings splitting her mother's poisoned fingers from her back.

Cerah shot upward, spreading a pair of dark feathered wings, the color of her hair. Jareth found the opportunity to pounce on the terrible goddess. Cerah soared downward, taking Jareth's shoulders in her hands and pulling him from the screaming goddess.

Suspended in the air Cerah wound her arms around his neck, all thoughts of sorrows, maddening mazes and trickery were vanishing. The tips of their wings touched delicately, feathers tangling as they hovered, more on the magic then on flight. Jareth's hand came up to cup her cheek in his hand, the bird features of his body were now gone, save his majestic wings. There was a wicked glare in his eyes, and a smile on his face, that sneering smirk of a grin that made Cerah's heart flutter. She did not know when she started loving him, "perhaps" had come much quicker then she had expected.

"Cerah," He said. "We must marry in the truest form if we want this world to balance."

"Now, you say that precious, but truly I think you are only concerned with your own pleasure." She said. "And you have forgotten that I am a ghost."

The Lady Goddess, quite forgotten to Cerah and Jareth, let out a cry of surprise. Suddenly a cloud of violent blue light appeared above the trio. Jareth clutched his ghost-bride greedily and protectively, lowering to the ground slowly.

The blue light darkened, and a tall Blue Man stepped out of its sheen. He had many tattoos over his long arms and his skin shone cerulean. There was a wondrous smile on his face.

"You have each proven yourself," He spoke, like the happiest rain storm of summer. "Life is granted where life is earned."

Cerah could feel. Truly feel. From under the wisps of her dewy spectral spirit a new flesh began to be born, and from this her new body was created.

Jareth gathered her in his arms, though possessively, Cerah knew in time, his troubled heart would ease and his hold would not be so dangerously evil. Cerah pushed him back to peer over her limbs and inspect herself. Traces of Sarah were mixed in with this body, but the white scars, very faded still marked her troubled journey. Jareth kissed the one closest to her wrist, and his eyes shone with apology.

Somewhere in the background Cerah's mother was falling to pieces. Literally.

The Blue Man had turned to her while the lover's inspected Cerah's new body and said "You shall no longer toy with destiny, child of the stars." The words were quiet, but ringing with power that went far beyond magic.

Her skin, pale as moonbeams turned a somber grey and fell like blown cobwebs inward towards her brain, now rotted and riddled with holes and sagging thoughts. She spoke no last words, no great heaving breath was emitted from her body. She crumbled quietly to the floor and accumulated into a pile of sharp bones and dust. Cerah would not miss her.

The Story-Teller took one look at the dead pile of goddess and cocked her head quizzically like a bird. The Blue Man bowed to her before stepping into his glowing light and vanishing. Jareth noticed the question in her eyes.

"What is it, precious?" He placed a hand on her shoulder.

She sighed quietly. "My mother... She was not all bad. There was one redeeming quality in her."

"What was that?"

"She never would have admitted it... But she loved my father more than anything. She was simply too proud to let herself be with him. Even after he died she still loved him, loved me too for being part of him."

"I can hardly believe that."

The Story Teller turned wild moss colored eyes toward him, and smiled devilishly. "Believe it. I am the Story Teller. I know everything."

To be Concluded…


	8. Chapter 8

Toby was twelve years old. He had turned twelve years old last week. His mother bought him a new bike, and he was finally allowed to ditch the smelly old helmet he had inherited from his sister Sarah. Finally he was old enough. Old enough to understand many things, he decided. He was sitting on a very stiff chair, his long legs spread out in front of him, his muddy shoes leaving flakes of brown on the floor. He was not a fan of the hospital. But then again, he figured no one really was.

Around him the worried faces of his relatives, friends of Sarah's and many faces he did not recognize reflected the nervousness he was feeling. He was old enough to know things now. His mother and father were gone; spirited away by a doctor or a nurse or whatever the sulking person in blue scrubs was and had not returned for almost an hour. It was somewhere around one o' clock at night. Toby had school tomorrow but he was not so sure if he was going or not now. At every moment that someone appeared in the hallway his eyes shot up, and drooped down again when his sister's face was not attached to the person who had entered the waiting area. This happened continuously until he gave up looking down at all and stared up the dark hallway watching for her.

He had just seen her last week. She was blushing and alive and happy, presenting him with all kinds of silly gifts for his birthday, most of which sported the name of her college.

"I hope you don't mind," She had ruffled his hair, just because she knew it bugged him. "But I have a discount in the school shop."

He hadn't minded. He was sporting the grey sweatshirt with the cardinal on it that she had given him now. He was hoping then when he saw her that she would be pleased that he wore it. He was hoping...

Something small caught his eye. It hovered down the hallway, right where the wall turned to a corner and it was black and waving a tiny clawed hand at him. Toby stood slowly and squinted.

The little black thing waved again and gestured for him to follow before vanishing around the corner. Toby hesitated but then rushed down the hallway, ignoring the pleas of his family members to stay.

At twelve he was already near six feet tall, a head above his classmates, and it was all in his legs. But try as he might with his wide strides he could not catch the little thing that rushed about the halls, seemingly invisible to passing nurses. He struggled to follow but eventually caught up to it at the bottom of a great stair case in a lonely hall. The blinking yellow light made the black ball of fluff that Toby was following glow eerily, but he wasn't afraid of it. He even recognized the creature from a story Sarah had always told him.

"You! Goblin!" He snapped.

The creature spun around to face him, showing off pointed teeth in a crooked grin, a long hooked nose and wide dark eyes.

"Come Tobss." It said and dashed up the stair on awkward legs.

The boy ran after it, up three flights of stairs and through a cement door, which he was barely able to open, it was so heavy.

"Hey!" He took in a huge gasp of nighttime air, and stared out at the roof of the hospital building. The little goblin was nowhere in sight. But he could see a woman standing on the raised edge of the building; she wore a white gown and had long dark hair.

"Sarah... Sarah!" Toby broke into a run towards the woman. She turned when he was halfway to reaching her and he paused suddenly... unsure if it was really her.

Her features were much the same, but there was something more beautiful about them, she was paler and older looking, but the age she wore was in her eyes. It was those eyes that made Toby stumble forward and into her arms. She too had scrambled for him and took her brother into an embrace he never wanted to end. For the moment he saw her he knew, she was not alive anymore. The dark-feathered wings that wrapped tightly around him was not the proof he needed, but they had certainly made his realization complete.

"Sarah... What happened?" He cried into her shoulder. His sister was so much shorter then he even now and his neck craned slightly so he could reach her shoulder.

"Some bad things, Tobes. But I don't want you to think about that, alright?" Her voice sounded different, but was still that pretty, somewhat annoying voice he had heard his whole life. "I need you to promise me something little brother."

"I'm never going to see you again am I?"

"Far from it you idiot. I'll be visiting you round the clock. Expect constant annoying big sister interference on your life, sweetie." She pushed him back gently to look at him. He knew he probably looked ridiculous, covered in tears and sweaty from stress.

"You promise you'll still be around?" He asked and sniffed grossly.

"You bet, but things will be different. Not just between you and me... The world is going to change Toby. Permanently but for the better. You need to promise me you'll be strong and good. Keep dad and mom happy and guide them through the changes."

He took her small hand in his. "I promise sista."

"Good," She used her spare hand to ruffle his hair. "Now, want to meet your brother-in-law?"

Toby blinked. Then blinked again and this time when he opened his eyes a familiar figure was standing beside Sarah.

"You?" His jaw hung slack.

Jareth laughed heartily. "He remembers me." As if to test the waters with Toby he leaned over and kissed Sarah's cheek.

Toby grimaced and eyed Jareth with a tight lipped glare.

"I see he doesn't approve."

Sarah smiled warmly at her brother. "Toby, he's okay. Someday soon I'll explain the whole story... You might even know it already, you are my brother. But for now, we need to leave. There's something we need to do." She turned a little pink.

Jareth sighed in exasperation. "Finally!"

"What?" Toby could sense a spark in the air around him.

Sarah shook her head. "Don't worry about it Tobes."

"Yes, it's just consummating our union. Boring grown up stuff." Jareth winked.

Sarah wacked him gently with one of her dark wings. Toby had to stop himself from punching the man.

"Toby, I love you. Give mom and dad my love. They'll see me soon." Sarah let go of his hand.

Toby wanted to protest, wanted to speed after Sarah when she spread her wings and took to the sky. Jareth too, that wretched king from her fairytales opened his own pair of wings and followed her. The sight of them silenced the twelve year old. They were like two angels, flying into the thick stormy clouds blowing towards them. Lighting lit the clouds and then they were gone, out of sight in a handful of quiet seconds.

He stood there watching the sky, knowing that his questions would be answered, all his worries would cease and the world would make some sense. But not now. He was too young to really understand it all. He found he could wait until he was older.

Thank you folks for reading. I know it was short, and simple, but I really enjoyed writing this and sharing it with you. Be on the lookout for another piece, cannon to this world that I created and focused around Hog/Hoggle. Every review was appreciated, and so is every reader, thank you all. See you soon!

Jimmy


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